Finding Natasha Romanoff
by Altariaa
Summary: Natasha has been taken after making a hasty decision during a mission, and it's up to Clint to find her. Rated T for language, Subtle Clint/Natasha pairing in later chapters. Clintasha.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Clint Barton peered round the corner of the underground tunnel, his back pressed firmly against the brick wall. The icy cold water that came up to his ankles rendered it nearly impossible to sneak around - but he managed. Curse Natasha Romanoff for getting captured. Now he had to search through these damned tunnels in order to break her out. Sometimes he really hated his partner's unpredictability. She was his responsibility now, Fury had allowed her to live, but Clint was the one who had to make sure she played by the rules. Unhooking his bow from his arm, he lifted it up and pulled out an arrow from the quiver, loading it into his bow. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and rounded the corner.

Two agents stood at the end of the tunnel by a ladder that leads up through a manhole and into the street. Light filtered down from the gap, illuminating the two figures. Clint didn't want to use his gun unless he had too, he preferred his bow, plus these tunnels were crawling with agents all dying to put a bullet in his head. Sneak attacks were much more fun anyway.

The thick muddy water sloshed at his feet as he stalked forwards, staying close to the wall in order to blend in with the background. When he got within three meters of the two agents, he released his first arrow, hitting the one agent on the shoulder. He didn't want to take him out immediately – he was angry at Natasha for running off and getting caught and needed to vent his frustration. Hawkeye slammed his fist into the first mans jaw, causing him to reel backwards and clutch at the wall. Whirling, he slammed his foot into the other mans chest, jabbing his elbow backwards as the first agent descended on him once more.

Clint grunted at he felt a sharp kick to his ribs, but withstood the pain long enough to slam one of the agents against the wall, releasing a second arrow straight into the man's chest. The agent slid down the wall, presumably dead. The last agent was running at him. Clint ducked, and the agent went sprawling into the cold water. Kicking his back, Clint towered over him, grimacing. He looked to both the agents. One was dead, and one was out for the count. He bent down to check the agents pulse and winced, God, his ribs really hurt.

Making to leave, Hawkeye raised a calloused hand and swiped it across his forehead. Sweat was trickling, leaving tracks across his dirt-covered face. Instead of heading up the manhole, he reached down and swiped one of the agent's walkie-talkies. Now he had the advantage. As an afterthought he unloaded their guns, pocketing their ammo. If the unconscious one woke up, he wouldn't be able to shoot him.

Checking the area around him Hawkeye took off down another tunnel. He wanted to check his ribs but he couldn't stop just yet – not until he'd found a safe place to rest. He rounded the corner and came to a T-section; to the left of him he spied three more agents. His ribs were still hurting, and he really wasn't up to another fight, so he slunk off down the corridor to his right hoping to avoid as much trouble as possible. After walking for about 5 minutes, he noticed a small alcove. It was far enough out of the way that it would be almost invisible to the untrained eye. Elevated slightly, it gave Clint the perfect advantage. Now he could tend to his injuries without any disruptions.

Hawkeye slung his bow onto the ledge and hauled himself up, which proved to be exceedingly painful due to his bruises. Panting slightly, Clint slumped down against the wall and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He took deep breaths in an attempt to calm his erratic breathing. Before searching for his bandages which were located at the very bottom of his backpack, he pulled out the walkie-talkie and tuned in to the nearest signal. Reassured that he was a good distance away from the nearest enemy, he set it down next to him and rifled through the contents of his bag.

He yanked out a reel of white bandages and rolled up his black t-shirt slightly. He poked at his ribs gingerly and found that the right hand side was starting to swell up slightly. Nothing was broken though, so he wasn't completely useless. It took him about three minutes in total to awkwardly wrap the bandages around his torso. He groaned. Fury was going to be really mad. He'd only just recovered from his last mission.

Grabbing his bow and slinging it over his shoulder he dropped down from his ledge. The water splashed loudly as he landed, and he cursed under his breath at his carelessness. He stood stock still, listening. Content that no one had heard him, he continued down the tunnels. Turning the corner he spotted a lone guard standing in front of him. He was talking non-stop into his own radio, keeping in contact with his team mates at all times. There was no possible way for a surprise attack. There were no shadows in this stretch of tunnel to provide cover, and his ungraceful knack of splashing through the water would give him away instantly. He pulled out his bow, and loaded it.

He checked the arrow was secure, before lining it up with his target. Quickly, he clicked on the walkie-talkie he acquired in an attempt to estimate how many guards were nearby. It took the radio quite a while to tune in, so he guessed that there was a chance he could get away from this tunnel before they checked up on the soon-to-be-unresponsive agent. They were bound to notice he had stopped talking. Throwing his walkie-talkie into his backpack, he let the arrow loose.

The man dropped to his knees instantly as the arrow came into contact with his chest, but not before whispering one last thing into his radio – Clint's current location. Clint blanched. All the agents in the tunnel were now swarming to this passageway, there was no way out.

No longer caring about the noise he made he sprinted off down the tunnel, his eyes desperately searching for a way out. He could hear voices behind him reverberating off of the walls. He was not prepared for this. Hawkeye was used to being above the ground, watching the action unfold beneath him as he sat high up in his nest. Unfortunately this underground tunnel system had been the only way of infiltrating the building where Natasha was being kept.

Blood pounded in his temples. Clint was just turning around to face the group of agents on his tail when he spotted it. A way out. He almost jumped up and down with joy at the sight of the rusting metal vent in the top right hand corner of the tunnel. He ran up to it and latched on, reaching for the screws that fastened the corners to then wall. They were so damaged the practically crumbled in his hands. Throwing the grate down into the water, he heaved himself up and through the tiny gap, disappearing just before the agents arrived.

Clint stood up, brushed himself down and looked up. He was standing in a large white room filled with security guards, all of which were looking directly at him, their guns trained on his chest.

_Shit. _

Was it too late to go back into the tunnel?


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of its Characters. Same goes for my previous Chapter.**

**A/N: Thank you so much to the people who have reviewed, I was so nervous posting this but I really appreciate the feedback. To artemis15sc, thank you for your review! From the movie and the Fics I have read, I have often got the impression that Natasha is quite impulsive. My idea was that she rushed into a situation, and was perhaps ambushed, or the situation got out of hand. I am planning to include a 'Flashback' chapter that will explain why and how she was captured. I intended for this to take place after The Avengers I think, as I want to include some of the other characters in the story. :)**

**Chapter 2**

Clint hesitated. Hand-to-hand combat had always been Natasha's area of expertise. Sure, he was good at it, but there was no way he could take on all ten guards in the room, not with his sore ribs. He raised his hands up slowly, so that they stopped just in front of his shoulders – a sign of surrender. Subtly he hooked his thumb around his bow, and scanned the room using his peripheral vision. The room was practically empty, and the white walls were making it difficult to focus. The lighting was so brighter in this room than it was in the tunnels. To his left he noticed a thick white pipe that lead up through the ceiling, most likely a pressure pipe. He flicked his eyes over to it and noticed a small adhesive sign slapped onto it.

_Caution._

He was right, it was a pressurised tube.

In one swift movement Clint Barton had swung his bow off of his shoulder and swiped one of his special arrows from his quiver. A smattering of bullets skimmed the top of his head as he pivoted on the spot, ducking as he did so. He released his arrow into the pipe – and boy did it have the desired effect. For a split second everything was silent... until his arrowhead exploded.

A burst of steam erupted itself out of the pipe puncture, right into the faces of all ten guards. Clint ran towards them, tackling one of the guards that was least effected by his little stunt. He slammed his shoulders against the man's stomach, forcing him to the ground before slamming the edge of his palm into the bridge of his nose. Sitting back on the floor he kicked his legs round, dropping a second guard to the floor. The man clutched at his shin, rocking backwards and forwards.

Clint laughed and ran towards a heavy wrought iron door that appeared to provide his only exit. He glanced back briefly at the guards, most of them lay on the floor, dazed. Scanned the room for an alternative exit, and found a way to get into the air ventilation shafts. He hated being at ground level, and going into the ventilation system would provide him with a perfect way to sneak around the building without being detected. Grabbing on to a pipe similar to the one he pierced, he shimmied up to the silver vent protruding from the ceiling. Clint latched onto the edge of the vent and pulled himself up. He was making a nasty habit of climbing through tiny vents and he wasn't sure he liked it.

The vent was tiny. Its aluminium sides pressed against his shoulders as he crawled along on his hands and knees. He continued along for about 5 minutes, twisting and turning through the tiny space, until he came to an intersection. Straight ahead of him was a dead end, all he could see at the end of it was a small fan. To his left there was an almost immediate corner, and he was doubtful as to whether he could squeeze around it. _Why do they have to make everything so small? How am I supposed to sneak around when I can't even fit in the damned ventilation system?_

His right seemed like his best option. About three meters down that direction there was a break in the system covered with a grate, presumably leading down into a corridor of some sort. He eased himself down that way, inching towards the gap. Clint shifted so that he lay on his stomach, and listened for signs that anyone was below him. After a few minutes of sitting quietly, he prised up the mesh covering the gap and peered down into the hallway. As far as he could see, there was no one there.

Clint leapt down from the vent, his heavy boots making a soft _clunk _as he landed. It was too small and wasn't working out for him being in such an enclosed space. His bow had been digging into his shoulders and lower back, and it was starting to become painful. He rolled his shoulders and stretched. The only thing in the corridor was a door to his right. Clint took a deep breath; listened at the door then walked in, bow at the ready.

Upon finding it empty, he walked over a plonked himself down on a leather chair. He sat their resting his ribs, and adjusted the braces on his arm before doing a quick count of his arrows. It was only then that he decided to take a proper look at the room he was standing in. His eyes widened. He was in a surveillance room! There were monitors all around him, displaying every single room in the building. If he could just spot Natasha, then they would be out of here in no time!

Grinning from ear to ear, he jumped up from his seat and poured over the screens, looking for a tell-tale flash of red or perhaps even a static screen. If she'd escaped she would have disabled the cameras. He could track them, and that would give him good idea as to where she was. The monitors didn't reveal anything of significance though. Sighing, he flopped into the leather chair behind him once more. He tipped his head back so that it rested against the back of the chair and stared at the ceiling momentarily before.

If he didn't find Natasha soon, he'd have to enlist some help, and he really did _not _want to have to ask Stark to help him. Tony was a great laugh, but he was incredibly annoying, and today of all days he could really do without his taunting. Perhaps he could ask Steve. Clint quickly shook that idea out of his head. Cap had a tendency to ask too many questions. Clint dragged his eyes back to the screen once more.

_Come on Natasha. Where are you?_ Clint was getting nervous. He bit his thumb anxiously, and then suddenly - there it was. That little flash of red.

Natasha was being held in the room directly above him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Avengers or any of its characters.**

**A/N: As promised, here is the flashback scene! I hope you all like it. Please feel free to review, or ask a question. Thank you again for all the reviews I have gotten, I really appreciate all of them. I'm sorry if there are any errors, I re-read it multiple times and asked one of my friends to read it through as well. **

**Chapter 3**

Clint thought back to that mission, how it all happened. They had been sent after a renowned crime boss who resided in Marseille, France. His name was Darius Amyot.

_They were in SHEILDs briefing room. It was large and spacious, with an opaque black table in the centre. The walls were made of tinted glass, and there were a set of high-definition monitors on the far side of the room. Clint Barton marched through the glass doors and flopped down onto one of the many chairs in the room, kicking his feet up onto the round table. Natasha Romanoff, his friend and partner, was not far behind. She shot Clint a disapproving look before shoving his feet off of the table and settling down gracefully beside him in a chair of her own. Clint smirked at her, before he turned his attention to Director Fury. _

"_So director, what have you got for us today?" Director Fury turned and faced the two agents. _

"_I'm sending the two of you to Marseille. We've been observing this man here, Darius Amyot for a while now, and his activities are becoming more and more worrying." Fury paused, sliding a black file across the table to the two agents. They opened it up and studied his picture, before proceeding to look over the information. _

"_His crimes consist of drug trafficking, theft, and assault. The French police are unable to apprehend him – it seems he has friends in high places. So you see the two of you are needed to find substantial evidence revealing his unsavoury activities. We're talking photos, e-mails, things like that." _

_Clint scoffed. "Easy," _

_Natasha scowled and hit him on the arm. She looked at the photograph once more. Amyot appeared to be in his late thirties. He looked slightly ropey, and rough stubble adorned the lower half of his face. _

"_How long do we have, Director, until we leave for Marseille?" she asked, not taking her eyes away from the image before her. _

"_You have 32 hours before your plane leaves. I expect you to study this file, learn it inside out. Do either of you have any questions?" _

"_Where do you suppose we look for this information, Fury?" This time, Natasha looked directly at him._

"_Well, Miss Romanoff, you are the Black Widow are you not? You tell me." Fury turned his back to them and busied himself with the monitors. The meeting was clearly over. _

_Natasha frowned, and then glanced at Clint. He gave the Director a mock salute once his back was turned, winking at Natasha before getting up and holding the door open for her. Natasha scooped up the folder, and began to walk down the corridor, flashing a smile at Clint as she passed him at the door. _

Clint was aware that the room she was being held in would be heavily guarded. Natasha had been captured due to her rushing into things, trying to recover the evidence without help. Clint couldn't make the same mistake. He recalled sitting in the mess hall with her late at night, Clint with a steaming cup of coffee. If he had to stay up all night reading studying this file, then he needed some freaking coffee. Why couldn't they get Stark to do it? Tony didn't mind staying up late; Clint on the other hand needed his beauty sleep. They were looking over the file intently, looking for anything that might help them with their mission, weaknesses perhaps.

_Natasha ran a hand through her flaming red hair as she looked over a record of Amyot's crimes. These records weren't official of course; Amyot had been careful. She relished challenges like these. Finding non-existent evidence that results in landing a notorious criminal in jail was what she lived for._

_Her eyes flicked up to Clint, who was sat opposite her analysing another set of records. _

"_Jesus," she muttered. "This man is insane." _

_Clint smiled wryly. "We can take him." he replied. Natasha chuckled. _

"_We? Who said I even needed your help?" she joked, looking up and smiling at him. He grinned. That was his Natasha. Always so confident, so sure of herself. He had no doubt that she could manage this alone, but he would go with her. Just in case. _

_They fell silent for a few moments, and Natasha seized her opportunity. She swiped Clint's coffee and took a gulp. Clint looked at her in mock disbelief. His jaw slackened and he leant over the table and reached for it. Natasha was one step ahead, as always and slid her chair backwards so she ended up about a millimetre out of his reach. She raised an eyebrow. _

"_Nat, give me my coffee. I need it." he growled. The Black Widow pouted, taking one last drink from the cup before handing it back to him. He took it back. The cup was empty. That damned woman had drunk all of it! Clint squashed the Styrofoam cup in his hand and launched it towards the bin that sat behind Natasha, his aim flawless as usual. He would have killed her if he didn't like her so much. _

Clint smiled at the memory fondly. Trying to remember what he had read about this facility when they went over the file that evening. He glanced back to the monitor. She was sat with two guards, unharmed. Good. He would have kicked himself if she had been moved whilst he wasn't looking.

He recalled reading about the underground tunnel system earlier – that's what led him to it beforehand. What a great idea that had been, not. If he remembered correctly, there should be roughly 38 security cameras on the floor above him, one in the room Natasha was in, two in the short corridor leading up to that room, and various others scattered across other rooms that were now of no concern to Clint.

He knew that there was a lift not far from the room he was in, that lead to a room three corridors away from where Natasha was currently. That would be his best bet. Unfortunately, the lift had a security camera in it, and was bound to attract attention. It was the only way up though. _Oh well,_ _I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. _Clint hated to dwell on it, but he found himself thinking back to that moment when Natasha had been caught.

_Clint was perched on the top of a sandy coloured building with a flat roof. He had his bow slung over his shoulders, and he was leaning slightly over the edge, watching a window on the second floor of a building opposite. One of Amyot's buildings. Clint couldn't see much through the window, it was really dark in there. Natasha sat atop the building in question hidden in the shadow of a taller building that stood next to it. The sun beat down on Clint, causing his forehead to clam up. _

"_Can you see anyone in there, Hawkeye? Is it safe for me to go in?" she whispered down the comm. Clint stayed silent, so she repeated the question. _

"_Widow, would you give me a minute? I'm trying to concentrate here. Just be patient," he hissed._

"_Come on Hawk, I'm fed up of waiting! If you don't give me a definite answer I'm just going to bust in there right now,"_

_Clint huffed. He knew if he didn't reply soon she would just barge right in there. He could only see one thug in the room, Natasha could easily deal with him. But what if there were more? If he made the wrong call... _

"_Hawk!" _

"_Alright! As far as I can see there's only one guy in there, but it's possible that-"_

_Clint was cut off abruptly by the sound of Natasha swinging down the side of the building and diving head first into the window. The rope she used left dangling at the side. _

"_Shit! Widow why didn't you let me finish? You can't just keep charging around like this!" Clint received no reply. Come to think of it, he couldn't hear anything... _

"_Widow?"_

_More silence._

"_Nat?" he whispered, tentatively._

_Still no reply. _

"_I swear to God Natasha if you don't reply in the next 3 seconds I'm coming in there after you!" he snapped. _

_Clint flinched upon hearing the squeal of tires across the road. A black SUV whipped round the corner, stopping abruptly right in front of the door to the building. Clint turned away to reach for his bow and an arrow, but upon turning back around, there was no sign of the van. _

_And more importantly, there was no sign of Natasha. _

**Note: I split this chapter in two, so the next update will be fairly similar to this. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of its characters. **

**A/N: I was so excited to write this chapter as I was planning to have Coulson in it... then I remembered that he died in the film! I hate my life. Maybe later on I'll do a One-Shot on Clint's friendship with Coulson. I always liked the idea of them being friends :) Sorry if anyone seems out of character in this chapter, I think it's my weakest one so far as I struggled with it a bit. Please leave a review letting me know what you think!**

**Chapter 4**

Clint Barton leant forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his knees and his head in his hands. He screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the memories. It proved futile though, as he soon found himself drifting back to that moment when he had returned to SHEILD to talk to Fury.

_Clint stormed into the meeting room throwing open the glass doors, causing them to shudder as they smacked against the wall. Stark, Fury and Bruce Banner, the only team members in the room, turned around to look at him. Tony was the first to speak up. _

"_Hey, Legolas! Where's Romanoff?"_

_Clint glared at him. _

"_Shut up, metal man. You know she's not here," Clint snapped. He stalked over to the remaining vacant seat, resting his elbows on the table. He began to roughly yank off his arm braces, and it soon became clear to the others that he was not prepared to divulge any more information without heavy prompting. _

_Bruce Banner sat forward in his seat and looked towards the archer. "Barton, you're going to need to tell us exactly what happened if you want us to help you." _

_Clint looked up at Bruce. He didn't really know him that well as he was always holed up with Stark - but from what Clint saw, he seemed like a nice enough guy. "I was scoping out our target's office from the top of the building opposite. We suspected that the information we needed might have been in there. If I deemed it safe, Natasha was going to go in there and look around whilst I watched the perimeter." _

"_So what happened?" Fury interjected._

"_I was about to tell her that I couldn't see the area clear enough, but she just went in! She never listens to me. I was trying to warn her that Amyot's thugs were most likely hiding in the shadows, but she didn't wait for me to finish talking!" Clint rambled on. "One minute she was there, the next minute she was smashing through a window. I lost contact after that. I saw this massive SUV swerve around the corner and went to reach for my bow – the next thing I knew she was gone." _

"_Don't worry about it Barton, we'll get her out." _

_The voice came from behind him. Clint, who had calmed down a bit since his arrival back at SHEILD, turned to find none other than Steve Rogers leaning casually against the doorframe. _

"_Hey, Cap!" Tony piped up. "Come sit next to me!" he grinned, patting the seat next to him. Steve just rolled his eyes and went to sit next to Bruce, opposite Clint. _

_Clint took in a deep breath and looked around at the others. "I have to get her back." _

Easier said, than done. He'd navigated those tunnels and infiltrated the facility, except now, instead of going to find Natasha, he was just sitting here thinking back on it all. He had to get moving sooner or later. With one last cursory glance to the screen that showed Natasha, he leapt up, grabbed his bow and raced out the door – straight into a group of about five agents.

Clint chastised himself for being so hasty. _Nice one, Barton. _

The agents clocked him and swarmed like bees to honey. One of them grabbed Clint from behind, using his arm to create a vice-like grip around his neck. Clint clutched at that arm with one hand, using the other at the same time to seize his assailant's gun and shoot at the rest of the group. Three guards went down instantly.

Clint backed up, slamming the guy on his back into the wall, and feeling the grip around his neck slacken momentarily. Taking his opportunity, Clint grasped the arm and ducked underneath it, before yanking on it and slamming the guard face first into the wall, pinning his arm to his back. Clint turned to face the other guard that hadn't been hit yet, and was forced to duck and let go of his grip on the agent he had pinned to the wall as bullets ricocheted off the walls around him. Without hesitation, Clint reached for his bow and released an arrow, knocking the man to the ground. Four agents down, one to go.

Whipping around with his bow poised, Clint searched for his last target. Noticing that the last guard was speeding round the corner of the corridor, he tore off after him, slinging his bow back onto his shoulder as he ran. His shoes pounded against the floor. He couldn't stop and shoot, as the corridor had too many twists in it – if he stopped to reach for his bow, he risked losing his target.

Clint puffed out heavy breaths and forced himself to surge forwards. He turned an approaching corner sharply, reaching out with his arms to catch himself against the wall as he slipped slightly, his shoes screeching against the linoleum flooring. Pushing himself away from the wall he raced after the guard, ignoring his ribs as they ached in protest.

Recognising that the corridor he was in was shaped like a horseshoe, and that the room next to him provided a direct shortcut that cut out the long corners, Clint busted through the door to his left. He raced into the room; rolled over the low table in the middle, and launched himself through the door on the opposite side of the room, slamming into the guard he was chasing in the process.

The guard smacked back into the wall behind him, cracking his head against it. Clint slammed his fist into the side of his head and backed up, analysing the damage. The man lay sprawled out on the floor, one hand on his gun, one hand on a security pass. Crouching down next to the body, the archer snatched up the pass and turned it over in his hands. A large smile crept across Clint's face.

There was no stopping him now.

**Note: Thank you so much to RogueRecruit and MJ Lynn for your reviews, it means a lot to me :) 12/1/13 ~ Re-uploaded. Minor updates done. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of its characters. **

**A/N: Again, Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. You guys have no idea how much I appreciate it :) To artemis15sc, thank you so much for your review! It really helps to get constructive comments as I am young and fairly new to writing, so it enables me to get better. I am currently going back over my fourth chapter adding some improvements and will upload it when it's finished. So, this is the final chapter! I felt that it was getting slightly repetitive, and this seemed like a good place to stop. I really struggled with this chapter, and had to re-write it about three times, but I really wanted to include Natasha a bit more so I stuck with it. I hope you all like it!**

**Chapter 5 – Final chapter!**

Clint stood up and looked around. Content that he wasn't in any immediate danger, he screwed his eyes shut and tried to picture the map of the facility that he and Natasha had been forced to memorise. All he had to do was remember how to get to the lift – if he could do that, he'd be fine.

Realising that it was just a corridor away, he reached for his bow and loaded it before creeping up to the corner. He didn't want to be delayed any more than he already had been. Peeking his head round, Clint spied two guards standing right next to each other. He slotted an extra arrow into his bow, so that it was double-loaded and turned his bow on its side so that he held it out in front of him horizontally.

The archer drew the bowstring up to his chin, then let go, shooting the two arrows simultaneously. Both targets went down together, clearing the corridor. _I have got to do that more often, _he thought to himself, smiling. He half-ran, half-walked forwards, making a conscious attempt to keep his footfalls light so as not to attract any unnecessary attention. Within two minutes Clint had arrived at the lift.

He was about to press the button onto the third floor when he realised that the lift would make a noise – if he used it, the agents on the floor above him would be upon him in seconds. Pacing slightly, Clint looked the lift up and down, contemplating his next move. Upon spotting the panel next to the lift's doors, he stopped in his tracks and walked over to it. It had a series of buttons on it. _Doors open, floor 1, floor 2..._

An idea flew into Clint's head. He could rewire the circuit so that the doors opened silently! He sighed, cursing himself for not spending more time with Tony. Stark of all people should know how to rewire a lift. _Sod it. If Tony can do it, so can I. _

Clint fished a knife from his backpack and stuck it behind the flat panel, using it to ease the cover off. It burst open, and Clint found himself face to face with a mass of tangled wires. There were yellow ones, red ones, blue ones... even a green one. His newly found confidence failed him, he had no hope of doing this on his own. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Clint flicked on his comm and contacted Tony. He was seriously going to regret this, he could tell.

Clint regained his composure as soon as he heard Tony speak:

"_Hey, Hawkie. You found Romanoff yet?"_

"Hey, Tony. No, I haven't found Tasha yet, but I'm really close. I was wondering if you could give me a hand?"

"_Sure, I'll just suit up and I'll be right over-" _Tony started, but Clint cut him off.

"No, Tony, I've got it all under control. I just need you to tell me how to re-wire a lift, so that the doors open silently," Clint replied. He could hear Tony sighing down the phone.

"_One can't just simply-"_

"Stark. Please?" He clenched his jaw in frustration.

_Tony huffed, admitting defeat. "Fine. First of all open the panel up. What colour wires do you see?" _

Clint peered into the panel once more, and counted up the wires.

"There are 3 red ones, two thick and one thin. A small blue wire, a large green wire and a big yellow wire," Clint recited. It was like opening a flood gate. All of a sudden Tony started vomiting words. _Pull out the blue wire, reattach the green wire, cut the red wire. _Clint struggled to keep up, but after about five minutes of constant re-wiring, Tony finally announced that they were done. Clint offered his thanks before pressing the button that opened the lift doors. Tony had deemed it safe, and who was Clint to question him?

To Clint's surprise it actually worked. The doors slid open easily without so much as a squeak. The only issue now was that if he pressed the button for his desired floor, all of the lights would turn on and he would still be ambushed – but Clint was one step ahead. He looked up and located the escape hatch that was placed on the roof of the lift in case of emergencies. He jumped up and grabbed onto it, bracing his feet against the hand rail that was attached around the walls of the lift. He pushed the latch up and hauled himself out of the lift, and onto the top.

The archer looked around at the pitch black lift shaft, coughing slightly as he inhaled a mixture of dust and grime. He took hold of the thick cables that held the lift in place. Flexing his muscles, he swung up and wrapped his legs around it, before proceeding to shimmy up the cable slowly towards the floor where Natasha was being kept.

The rough cable tore at his already calloused hands, causing blisters the size of quarters to appear. This was a really bad idea. After a few minutes of pure concentration, Clint paused and assessed his progress. He looked down to see that he was about halfway up the cable. He suddenly felt very high up. The lift below him seemed miles away, darkness clawed at his feet, and his sweating palms made it increasingly difficult to maintain his grasp on the cable. He pressed his forehead against the cable, closing his eyes in an attempt to regain focus. He continued to pull himself up higher, blocking out any thoughts of the dangerous drop below him.

After what seemed like a lifetime, he found himself hanging parallel to the opening in the shaft that allowed him access to the floor. Luckily for Clint, the doors were slightly ajar so all he had to do was jump, and he'd be there. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and jumped. Clint nearly cried with relief when he hit the carpeted floor, and softened the blow of the jump by rolling over on his shoulders.

Clint stood up and checked himself for injuries. He was pretty sure his ribs were screwed, but other than that he was fine. His hands hurt like hell, but that was to be expected. He retraced his steps and walked over to the lift shaft, sticking his head out to look at what he just accomplished. _Son of a bitch, _he whispered to himself. Blowing out a huff of air, Clint turned around, mentally patting himself on the back. _Job well done eh, Clint? _He smirked. He couldn't wait to see Natasha's face when he told her about this one.

He quickly shook himself out of his stupor, and pulled his bow off of his shoulders. Tip-toeing down the corridor, Clint kept his eyes peeled for any incoming guards or agents that might be patrolling the area. He ran into a couple as he worked the corridors, but dealt with them quickly by sending out a flurry of arrows that they hadn't been expecting.

Eventually he arrived at Natasha's door, and just like he had suspected, it was locked with a security code. He swiped the pass he had acquired earlier through the reader and swung the door wide open. The scene inside however was anything but what he had expected...

Natasha Romanoff opened her eyes and looked around the room in front of her. Everything was white – the walls, the floor, the door. The room was completely empty, other than the chair she was sitting on and a small table in the corner. Blood pounded in her head, and there was a dull throbbing in her temples. She felt she was going to be sick. The piercing overhead light didn't help, so she ducked her head down and closed her eyes.

The left side of her face felt sticky. She went to raise her hand to it, only to discover that her hands were tied down. She tugged on her restraints and was surprised to find that they were tied fairly loosely. She bowed her head in concentration, attempting to loosen her ties further, her red hair filling her vision. A few strands were matted with dried blood. Dust and tiny cuts covered her suit all the way down from when she'd jumped through the window. 

She tried to move her legs, and was pleasantly surprised to find that they weren't bound to the rickety chair. If she could get out of it before, she could get out of it again. Natasha narrowed her eyes, and leaned forward, attempting to stand. She balanced on her tip-toes for a split second, then everything went blurry. She fell backwards. The chair legs nearly buckled under the impact. Natasha shook her head in an attempt to clear the fog.

Taking some deep breaths, she steeled herself for a second attempt, but like the first, dizziness overwhelmed her, and she flopped back down onto the chair. Instead, she returned her focus to freeing her hands. Where the hell was Barton anyway? He should have been here by now. She froze – what if something had happened to him? What if he had been captured like she had?

She shook her head. _Get a hold of yourself, Romanoff. Clint's not stupid. _

She thought back to when they had taken her.

"_Alright! As far as I can see there's only one guy in there, but it's possible that-"_

_That was all the confirmation she needed. She tied off a long string of bungee cord around a large metre square air vent that stuck up through the roof of the building, and flung the other end over the edge of the building. Natasha grabbed the cord and swung down, Tarzan style, through the window._

_Instantly she realised her mistake. There wasn't just one thug, there were seven. The ones Clint couldn't see stepped out of the shadows as soon as she landed in the room. There was no time to reply to Clint however, as she launched herself into action. She kicked out to the side, making contact with one of their chests. He reeled backwards, grabbing on to the office desk behind him, scattering documents all over the floor. _

_Another was advancing towards her. She flipped backwards, kicking the man in the jaw, and effectively stunning him momentarily as he backed away from her. She paused. The men had stopped approaching her one by one, and were slowly converging on her simultaneously, in a tight semi circle. Natasha backed up against the broken window. She was just about to call Clint for backup when she felt something smack into the side of her head. _

_That was when everything had gone black. _

Natasha blinked and snapped out of her memory at the sound of a key card swiping through the lock on the other side of the door. It swung open, and four men walked into the centre of the room, the largest stopping about half a metre in front of the chair she was sitting on.

"Ah, the famous _Black Widow._ I have to say you disappointed me slightly. You haven't exactly lived up to your reputation, have you?" He spoke with a thick French accent and peered down at her, crossing his arms.

Natasha looked up at him calmly. She had almost freed herself from her restraints. When she made no reply, the man frowned and tried again.

"My boss wants to know who you're working for." He stepped closer to her, and Natasha subconsciously leant backward in her chair. The action did not go unnoticed by her interrogator. He grabbed her chin roughly and forced her to face him. She glared at him with as much malice as she could manage, refusing to answer yet again. Just as he raised his hand to hit her, she kicked out with her leg, snapping the last remaining strand of rope that bound her hands together, and landed a solid punch to the edge of his jaw.

She was suddenly feeling a lot better than she did 10 minutes ago.

Jumping up, Natasha targeted the second largest guard on the far side of the room. She ducked as he ran towards her, swiping her leg around in a full circle, knocking him down. She rolled sideways and leapt up, flinging her hand out to stop the third man's fist from making a connection. She kept a firm grip on his hand, twisting it and shoving him backwards into the man behind.

Whirling back around, the Black Widow turned to face the first man again after sensing him getting back up. She jumped towards him with her feet together, smiling as they connected with his chest. She fell backwards, catching herself on her upper arms and back, before flipping her body back to a standing position.

She turned once more, slamming her fist into one of the recovering guard's jaws, knocking him down too. She turned her head to face the two remaining agents in the room. One was crouching, in a vain attempt to catch his breath, and the other was advancing towards the door. She sprinted towards him, jumping once more and locking her legs around his neck. She swung her body around listening out for the tell-tale 'crunch' that was his spine snapping. She flipped as he fell, landing gracefully on her feet.

Finally, Natasha strolled almost lazily up to the last guard, pausing before she continued her assault. He looked up and her with pleading eyes, but Natasha merely tilted her head, throwing him a withering look, before landing a swift kick to the side of his head. She walked to the centre of the room and admired her handiwork. She was just beginning to calm down when she heard the door being thrown wide open, revealing a tall figure standing in the doorway. Natasha snapped her head up and looked him dead in the eye. She recognised him instantly.

Clint Barton had finally arrived.


End file.
